Wayne to the Principal's Office
by silverowl33
Summary: A story about Damian's transition from the ways of the League to embracing his father's ways and changing. Will start from the summer before he starts the fifth grade and how Damian grows and changes while he lives with Dick and Alfred. Started off as a prequel for Super Sons and will include his relationships with Dick, Alfred, Tim, Jason, Colin, and others.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. Long time no see. So I've been playing around with this idea for a while now, about ten year old Damian Wayne adjusting to civilian life and life outside of the League of Assassins in general. I've seen the _Super Sons_ comic online and I think it would be interesting to explore what Damian first thoughts of going to school and acting like a normal kid as well as to explore his past friendships before Jon and to see the effects of living with the League for the first ten years of his life. Now, I haven't read a whole lot of comics but I just wanted to make sure I was getting Damian's characterization right. Once I am finished with the whole story, the rest will be posted.**

Chapter One

"I assume that you packed Rory as well?" Damian asked as he glanced around the boys' dormitory. Colin stopped fiddling with his coat long enough to unzip his backpack to reveal his stuffed bear. Damian nodded in approval.

"Brian thinks it's kind of girly that I still have him but I'm not getting rid of him. Never. He's all I got," Collin muttered and held the backpack close.

"Did you memorize the index card like I asked you to?"

"Yep, your phone number, your email address, your landline, and your address," Colin nodded and tapped his temple, "It's all up here."

"Good. If this… Steele family proves to be in any way, shape, or form unfit to care for you, do not hesitate in contacting me." Try as he might, Damian just couldn't seem to hold eye contact with Colin. He didn't understand it. He usually had no trouble with this sort of thing but he couldn't help but avert his eyes from Colin's forlorn gaze.

"Sure thing dude," Colin gripped his backpack tighter and Damian noted the increase in his breathing rate.

"Would you like to pull Rory out for comfort?"

"No, no." Colin grimaced and shook his head. His breathing seemed to return to normal. "I gotta learn to manage my feelings and junk without a stuffed animal. Therapist says. Plus, Brian doesn't like him much and him and Kimberly are coming soon. I don't want to upset them. Are you gonna forget about me Damian?"

"What?" Damian finally found the strength to look Colin in the eyes. Colin seemed paler than usual and was gripping his backpack tightly. Brian be damned, Damian retrieved Rory for Colin.

"I am not going to forget you Colin, that's preposterous. I have an excellent memory and," Damian quickly swallowed the lump in his throat, "I do enjoy spending time with you Colin, really, I do. I will miss your company while you live in the suburbs."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Are you sure you'll be alright with the Steele family?"

"Brian and Kimberly are really nice people. They're just new to foster care and everything." Colin nuzzled his stuffed animal before reluctantly putting it away. "I'll probably be back before school even starts."

"What do you mean? I thought this placement was supposed to be long term."

"It is but," Colin bit his lip and then shook his head, "I'm more trouble than I'm worth. I got issues, lots of them."

"You are not more trouble than you are worth. Who told you that? I'll put their head on a spike for slandering you in such a despicable way."

"Thanks Damian," Colin smiled, "They're good people, I promise you. The nuns wouldn't put us in their care if they didn't think so. Brian's a police officer and Kimberly's a nurse. I met them and their respite care lady and she's nice too. They're just, really, really normal, you know?"

"No."

"Oh, well, they're normal and that's why I'm worried. I heard Sister Catherine tell Sister Barbara Anne that the Steeles can't have kids so they're going to try to adopt and they got these ideas of how kids are and I don't know if I can be a normal, suburb kid, even without, you know," Colin lowered his voice, "Being Abuse."

Damian shifted in his seat. The idea of Colin going away was not pleasant; the idea of Colin going away permanently was thoroughly uncomfortable. Normal, bah. Who wanted to be normal anyway? Colin touched his shoulder and Damian jerked it away. Anger bubbled inside of him.

"I'm sure you will. I suppose you'll have Boy Scout meetings and Little League practice and soccer games every weekend then. And you'll have homework and Sadie Hawkins dances and sleepovers with your new friends. And you'll stay in the suburbs instead of coming back to Gotham, I suppose?"

"Damian," Colin said softly. Damian refused to look at him. Something was irritating his eyes. They burned. Perhaps it was the laundry detergent the nuns used. Colin touched his shoulder again.

"Damian, I'm not going to forget you either."

"Tt. How could you?"

"I promise. I'll write and email you. You're my friend Damian."

"Tt. Wh-what are you doing?"

Colin wrapped his arms around Damian and pulled him close. A hug. Colin was hugging him. Damian hated hugs and he hated this one too but he also liked it. Damian wrapped his arms around Colin too. He hoped he was doing this right.

"Ahem." Both boys looked up. A nun, a woman, and a man were watching them. Damian blinked hard. His face was now burning in addition to his eyes.

"Colin, Mr. and Mrs. Steele are here to pick you up. I can walk your little friend to the gates."

"Thank you Sister Helen." Colin turned to Damian and gave him another, yet briefer, hug. "Bye Damian. I'll keep in touch."

Sister Helen stepped forward. She pulled a white handkerchief out. When did it get so hot in this room? Damian needed to leave.

"I can show myself out. Goodbye Colin."

He quickly hurried out the door and stopped at the threshold. The couple standing before him seemed clean cut and well-dressed, even if they did look a little yuppie-ish.

"Take good care of him."

"We'll take good care of Colin, I promise," Kimberly Steele said sweetly. Damian didn't trust her. He looked Brian Steele in the eyes. He smiled as though Damian were just a simple, curious child.

"Rory stays."

XXX

Alfred had picked him up from the arcade closest to St. Aden's. They didn't have Cheese Viking but it proved to be a suitable distraction. The car ride was silent, mostly due to his refusal to talk. At least Alfred knew well enough to let sleeping dogs lie. Dick would have bothered him the entire car ride home. Alfred's only request was for him to help carry in the groceries. He complied.

There was a maple tree on the western hill that provided ample shade and a clear view of the grounds. He had one of his sketchbooks in his lap. The one with the maroon cover. The foliage was thick, Alfred's garden was in full bloom, and the grass was vibrant. He wondered how it would look in the winter, or autumn, which would soon arrive. Dick promised cooler nights and welcome breezes once the leaves changed colors. Perhaps he could dabble a bit more in painting. Pencil lead alone wouldn't do his first true autumn sketch justice.

A hot breeze kicked up dust. Damian closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The air was sweet compared to the smog and pollution of Gotham City. He did not care for the humid summer weather. He preferred the dry heat that he was raised on. Despite his greatest attempts not to, he missed the place where he was born, where he trained. The ability to go where he pleased. The academic and physical rigor provided by his many tutors. The sand swept courtyard with sweet smelling jasmine plants. His favorite china tea cup served by his-

"Damian! Come on in! It's going to start raining soon!" Dick called out to him. Damian scowled. His cheeks burned. He shouldn't wallow in the past. It was unfitting of his upbringing. _If I wanted to stay in the past, then I wouldn't have bothered with the Pit_, his grandfather once told him. He dusted off the seat of his pants examined his sketch. Drawing from memory was supposed to be an exercise for his mind but, his memory couldn't quite seem to reach the paper. His nails dug into the paper and he snapped the sketchbook shut.

"Damian!"

"I'm coming!" Damian snapped back. The trudge back to the Manor seemed longer than usual.

XXX

Damian hummed and jotted down another note. He checked his watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. The game would need to be finished soon. Other boys were beginning to warm up for their upcoming game. Boys in blue played green clad lads. The Sharks versus the Braves. The game was close: 8-9 Sharks.

Damian knew what sports were; he just had no interest in them. Baseball, boring. Football, exceedingly brutish. Track and field, pointless. Soccer, overrated. Need he go on? Training, patrolling, now that was exciting. He was vaguely aware of youth sports-his mother had him read his predecessor's files and both Tim and Jason played sports-but it never was something of personal interest.

Gotham, to his surprise, was very child friendly. Dick told him that other cities were much more child friendly but Damian could not believe it. Children were encouraged to be seen _and_ heard. If a child in the League did half of what a child in Gotham was permitted to do, then they would have been beaten to a bloody pulp. These children had their own sense of fashion, toys, books, music, and so much more directed at them. Youth sports were just a cherry on top and it drew him in, for research purposes of course. If he would have to go undercover, then he would need to understand the world of the child.

Damian had an excellent view of the baseball diamond from his perch in the tree. He had watched the Tigers play the Falcons earlier. And Damian got to watch Gotham's finest turn red in the face as the team from the pits of Gotham absolutely destroy their sons in a game of baseball. It was the ninth inning. Soon, the game would end and parents would take their children home for lunch or across the street for fast food. From his understanding, the winning team would buy ice cream.

Speaking of which, he was hungry. He fingered the ten dollar bill in his pocket. There was a man sold kebabs from a cart in this park but, Dick had promised to eat lunch with him at one. His stomach gurgled and Damian made a face. One kebab wouldn't hurt. As Robin, he needed to keep up his strength.

Damian dropped out of the tree, as silent as a panther. He passed the benches that were full of parents, yelling out encouragement and embarrassing their children, and siblings that whined about the heat. Number Nine's parents had slipped away for another argument. A shame because they had just missed their son get onto first base. 9-9. Perhaps the Braves would win.

As he made his way down the path, he kept his eyes on a swivel. Just because he was not wearing the R did not mean he stopped being Robin. He had a name and a legacy to uphold. He would do his best to honor his father, as a son should.

"Lisa, I'm so sorry to hear about your dad."

"William John Murphy! Don't you dare throw that! William!"

"What time do you have to go into work tomorrow?"

"Jen! How was your vacation?"

Nothing of interest. Just snippets of banal conversations of everyday citizens. In the distance he spotted a few teens loitering by the fence. An owner picking up after his dog. Mothers with small children and oversized baby carriages. He picked up the pace. Perhaps he could wait in the air-conditioned office of Wayne Enterprises instead of sweating like a pig in this extremely boring park.

"One vegetable kebab please."

Damian sat on the park bench, letting the sun burn the back of his neck. Nearby parents passed the time by sharing gossip. Most of the children were under the age of five. A mother tried to stop her toddler from eating sand. A father was bouncing his infant child on his knee. Children shrieked as they dashed around the play structure.

A little boy raced along the platform and stumbled off, falling two feet to the ground. The child screamed as though he had been shot. Damian rolled his eyes. He had faced far worse pain than that boy had experienced at that age. A man, the boy's father, swept the boy into his arms and carried him off the playground. Damian overheard the father's hushed words of comfort and glared at the ground as the boy's cries began to wane. Something hot and uncomfortable was burning a hole in his chest. It must be the heat. He needed to escape it. He spotted a familiar apartment building and sighed. It would have to do.

XXX

The apartment's front door was extremely easy to pick. The modified lock to Tim's apartment proved to be more challenging but still pick-able. Damian pursed his lips and pushed the door open. His eyes widened as his eyes took in the sight before him. Tim's apartment was clean and orderly. Did he pick the wrong lock?

He stepped forward. A speaker blasted out morose lyrics. The place reeked of cleaner. He entered the kitchen and begun to laugh. Tim was ironing a women's dress.

"Damian!" Tim growled and tapped his phone. The music stopped. "What do you want?"

"To escape the heat. Grayson has barred me from entering Wayne Enterprises without him or Pennyworth accompanying me. What are _you_ doing?"

"Laundry."

"Yes." Damian picked up an article of unfolded clothing. A woman's brassiere. He dangled it in front of Tim. "I don't believe this belongs to Brown. It's far too large. The virtuous Robin and a strange woman. What would Grayson say?"

Tim snatched the bra and threw it back into the laundry basket. His cheeks were redder than Wally West's hair. He set the iron down.

"That's Crystal's."

"What a delightful name for a prostitute," Damian drawled, "Or is she an escort? Todd tells me the only difference between the two is a few hundred dollars."

"Crystal is Steph's mom," Tim snapped, "Their washing machine broke so I told Steph she could do her laundry here. She's stressed out so I figured I could do it to take something off her plate. And stop touching their things, you pervert!"

Damian dropped a neon green sports bra as though it was diseased. He sniffed haughtily and sneered. "It's only perverted if it's sexual, and trust me, I have no interest, romantic or sexual, in the blonde trollop or her mother."

"Says the kid touching their underwear," Tim snorted and cut off Damian, "And that's big words coming from a kid who won't start puberty for another couple of years."

"So, you're doing your girlfriend's laundry?" Damian walked around the kitchen. He sniffed. Tim had opened some windows but it wasn't enough to get rid of the lemon infused chemical smell.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"Ha!" Damian leaned against the table so he could face Tim. "_You're_ doing your girlfriend's laundry."

"Yeah, you going deaf?"

"Laundry is women's work. Although this shouldn't come as a surprise, given your previous failures at being a man."

"Oh, and what would they be?"

"Trust me, Mother has assured me of them. Your lack of physical stature, your need for a bo staff in order to defend yourself in the field, your continued inability to prove yourself worthy of the Robin mantle, and the fact that you nearly raised another man's child. That alone should disqualify you for manhood."

Tim gaped. Damian allowed himself to grin. He had found a new nerve to strike. While he thought of another way to use it against Tim, Tim banged the iron against the table. Damian refused to flinch.

"Who told you that-"

"My mother, you fool. And shut your mouth, you look like a fish. Your little whore is safe. If Mother thought she was a threat, then she would have had someone kill her and the mewling bastard," Damian sniffed. Perhaps he was becoming acclimated to the scent of the cleaner.

"Not a word-"

"Blah, blah, blah, blah, I don't particularly care Drake," Damian stuck out his jaw, "You lost the right to my respect as soon as you stole my title from me."

"Just, just shut up, alright? Go watch TV or something. I got stuff to do," Tim grumbled and resumed ironing. Damian threw his hands in the air. It was no fun when Tim refused to play the game. Perhaps the cleaner destroyed his few remaining brain cells.


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter. So, after many revisions, this is the second chapter. What do you guys think?**

Chapter Two

It would not stop raining. Damian did not have much to do today. He finished his reports, looked over old cases, and trained, all before lunch. Dick had left a clothing catalogue for him to look through. He did not have much in the name of civilian clothing as he refused to wear Dick's ancient hand-me-downs. Perhaps he should look through it, but he checked his email instead. One new email alert from Colin.

_Hey D,_

_ What's up? How's Gotham? Kimberly and Brian are alright. I have a few chores and stuff but they're less than what I usually had to do at St. Aden's. They have a cat. Her name is Mittens and she's really soft. I miss the nuns and my friends back at St. Aden's and I really miss patrolling and hanging out with you. Kimberly and Brian said that I'd make new friends but there's not a whole lot of kids my age in their neighborhood. It'd be nice if you could come out here sometime. Brian got me a bike. It's a black and yellow ten-speed. It's so cool. I have to join Boy Scouts this year which I'm not too thrilled about because I'm a city kid, not a country bumpkin! :P Anyway, we're going down to the beach this weekend. Brian's friend has a house down there. Write back, okay? I'll tell you all about it._

_ -Colin_

Damian typed out a concise reply and hit send. Then he pushed his laptop to the side. He was bored and lonely. Alfred had gone out to the shops earlier, Dick had meetings and was stuck at work until six, and even Tim was gone. He lowered himself to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. There was nothing that he wanted to do. Back at the League, he could always find some way to entertain himself, even if it was just verbal sparring with one of the bolder servants.

The taste of something bitter covered his mouth. He did not like being by himself with nothing to do. He jabbed at his alarm clock. Dick told him it had a radio. Vapid Top Forty music began to play. He picked up one of his sketchbooks, the green one this time. It was mostly full. They were sketches of things inside the Manor. He picked up another one, the navy blue one. It was empty. Damian didn't know what to put in it yet. He traded it for his yellow sketchbook. Landscapes. The maroon one was now in his hands and began to look through it.

Nafisa was a skinny, little thing. She was the chambermaid and in charge of keeping all the rooms tidy. Her father sold her to the League to pay off his debt. She cried a lot and told Damian sad stories. It took Damian a long time in order to capture the sadness and hope in her eyes. Too bad she was killed the day before her contract ended. She thought she was going home.

Faizan trained him. He was a hard teacher and the only person ever to strike him when he did wrong. Damian was not allowed to fail like the others._ His mother wanted perfection_, Faizan often reminded him, and he would not fail her. Faizan was never afraid to belittle Damian, especially in front of his fellow trainees. He had smiled when Talia stuck her sword through his heart. That was the first time Damian had ever seen him smile. His rendition of Faizan included his cane.

Samira was an old hag. She was the cook and laundress. She had no patience for anyone and gave the bare minimum of respect and courtesy her betters were entitled too. Damian did not like her. She often reminded him that he had yet to earn his title of an al Ghul while swinging a wooden spoon in the air after he had tried to take food from the kitchen in between meal times. When he had earned his title, she just stared at him and shook her head. She hung herself soon after. Her portrait scowled back at him. Damian flipped to the next page.

His eyes glazed over the faces of his tutors, his fellow trainees. He remembered each and every one of their names and faces but only drew the most memorable. Damian stopped at one drawing. His fingers drifted over the boy's face. It was another trainee, one born of high privilege, like him. Born to be trained to work for the highest order of the League. He wondered what it would be like to fight him now as an enemy of the League, instead of sparring like they did when they were only small boys.

Damian snapped the book shut. No use dwelling on the past. Perhaps he could try reading a book in the study until Alfred prepared lunch. Yes, that would be a good idea.

XXX

"So, Damian," Dick started as he cut his chicken, "You've been making a lot of progress lately."

"And?" Damian stabbed at his peas. They refused to stay on the tines despite his best efforts.

"And, well, I thought that with the summer winding down and all, that it would be a shame not to continue that progress."

"Does this mean that I will be allowed access to the Cave without having to ask you or Pennyworth?" Damian perked up. Dick and Alfred had managed to prevent him from having 24/7 access to the Cave. He often had to wait for one of them to be ready to supervise his access.

"Not yet, maybe soon," Dick chuckled nervously and patted the table, "Without a doubt, Damian, you've proven yourself intellectually and physically-"

"Why do I sense a however is forthcoming?"

"But I've been thinking about your socio-emotional skills lately."

"What about them?" Damian returned his focus to the errant peas. Dick most likely was going to force him to accompany him to more charity events and galas. Perhaps he could persuade him to have more access to Wayne Enterprises.

"Well, they've improved since the beginning of the summer but I think that that's going to change or at least stagnate if we don't do something about it."

"Fine, I will accompany you and Pennyworth on more outings. Is that enough to end this ridiculous conversation?"

"No, Damian. I enrolled you in school."

Damian's fork clattered on the ground. Dick barely ducked in time to miss Damian's flying dinner plate.

"I won't go! I won't! I won't!"

XXX

"Please put your pencils down and close your answer booklets."

Pencils furiously scribbled last-minute answers while other children closed their test booklets. Damian's answer booklet was already tucked into his test booklet. His pencil's eraser was practically untouched. It was a simple arithmetic, reading, and writing test. Nearly three hours of his morning wasted by a standardized test. If he had been allowed to go from section to section, then he would have finished in thirty minutes.

His potential classmates had a dazed look about them as they were released into the hallway. They looked drained. Damian could not understand it but he kept his mouth shut. Dick had specifically instructed him not to talk unless it was to answer a direct question, part of the interview portion, or something nice to say. Not like Damian wanted to communicate with these snot-nosed gremlins who wrinkled their clothes and shrieked like stabbed mice.

"What'd you get for the candle question?"

"That king story was stupid!"

"This stinks."

"I'm hungry."

"I'm going to fail that stupid test!"

Damian rolled his eyes. So many complaints in so little time. Spoiled. The whole lot of them. And dishonorable as well. They signed the nondisclosure portion of the test beforehand yet they chattered as though their word meant nothing. Did honor mean nothing to them?

The school building was full of children. It was a public high school of Gotham City, formerly H.S. 2, now known as William R. Kane High School, built in 1902 to educate the masses. As of right now, it currently held student testing for the remaining spots of Gotham's many magnet and private schools. Damian was one of them.

Dick had assured him that his placement in the prestigious Gotham Academy was a given. He was a legacy, after all. His father attended, and his grandparents, and so on and so on since the founding of the institution. Because Talia had homeschooled in an 'unorthodox' way him, Gotham Academy required test scores. He would get a perfect score; it would be expected of him and he did not disappoint.

Damian entered an empty classroom and looked out the window. Cars filled the parking lot and hopeful students raced out of the building. Teens crowded cars and parents tugged young children down the block. Magnet school hopefuls. He had to snort. Students hoping to attend one of the more prestigious private schools stayed behind. Alfred had spent hours preparing him for the interview portion. It would be a cinch.

"Young man, I believe the elementary schoolers are supposed to be on the first floor," a man said, pushing in a mop bucket. Damian did not react. The janitor jabbed the mop in his direction. "Skedaddle kiddo, I got work to do."

A woman with bags under her eyes directed him to room 1203, elementary school boys. Boys hollered and claimed desks to hold their belongings. Damian paid no mind. He picked an empty desk in the corner and began to change. The interview required formal clothing. Most of the other boys refused to pay attention to the time and engaged in horseplay.

"You know how to tie a tie?" a chubby boy quirked his head. He had spiky red hair that he had desperately tried to tame with a comb and spit.

"Of course I do." Damian considered mirroring his gape. Did American children know nothing of the finer things in life? The boy held up his own tie.

"Can you help me out? Please?" the boy begged. Damian rolled his eyes and took it.

"What kind of knot do you want? A four in hand, half-Windsor, full Windsor, Pratt?"

"There's more than one way?" the other boy stared as if Damian had just performed a jig and offered him a pot of gold. Damian had to resist the urge to snark. _Be polite_, Dick's voice rang in his head.

"This knot is called a four in hand," Damian begun as he quickly tied the tie. He didn't believe the other boy had heard a single word he said. "And for God's sake, tuck in your shirt. And if you want your hair to lie flat on your head, then you'll need hair gel. You look as though a four year old dressed you."

"Uh, do you have, um, some? Can I borrow some? Please?"

"I will give you the appropriate amount, otherwise, you'll probably look like an Irish greaser on his way to ruin a sock hop." Damian fished around the bag. He had stolen some hair gel from Tim's bedroom at the Manor. Not for any particular reason. He just did. Damian provided the boy with an allotment of gel and instructions he read off the back of the tube. Someone tapped his shoulder. It was another boy, with another tie.

"Hey, can you help me too?" he said without the sheepishness the redhead possessed. It was Number Nine from the Braves team.

"Fine." Damian spat the word out and tied the tie. He didn't bother with instructions. No one seemed to be paying attention to his directions anyway. "What is the pattern on this tie, anyway?"

"It's the Millennium Falcon, dude! Don't tell me you don't recognize it."

"Nerd," coughed a boy in the back.

"This tie is too large for you but it will have to do," Damian said to no one in particular because this Star Wars boy seemed to be too busy glaring at whoever insulted him to actually listen to him.

"Why are you helping _Al_-vin?" the sneering boy in the back, "He's a total loser."

"Am not, so shut up Derek!" Alvin shook his fist. At least Damian had finished tying the tie before the idiot had jerked away.

"Does anybody else need their tie tied because I will not be doing any more otherwise," Damian asked loudly. Five hands shot up. He grounded his teeth. "Line up over here."

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He hadn't even tied the first boy's tie when someone tried to yank him away. Damian barely moved. He turned around and glared.

"And who are you?"

"Derek Powers. You're Damian Wayne, aren't you?" Derek grinned as though he would win a prize for correctly guessing his name. Damian studied him. He was definitely a son of Gotham's elite.

"Yes, I am."

"Why're you helping _them_?" Derek spoke as if the other boys were lepers. A few of the younger boys turned away to hide their red faces.

"They need it."

"Oh right," the boy laughed without humor. Damian didn't even know that was possible for a normal ten year old boy. "You're a _Wayne_."

"We've established that," Damian said testily. Derek laughed again. Damian resisted the urge to smack him. _No violence,_ he thought. He could not risk blowing his cover.

"Helping out with charity cases." Derek raised his brow as though Damian could not understand the hilariousness of his comment. "That's a very Wayne thing to do. My stepmother runs the Board for Gotham Academy. She told me you were applying. Had to see it for myself."

"I am. And unless you have something important to say, I need to tie these neckties."

"You don't have to be like your dad you know," Derek sniffed when Damian turned his back to him. Damian rolled his eyes. The boy whose tie he was tying refused to look him in the eyes and was pulling away like he was a mere chicken and Damian was a hungry fox. Damian jerked him forward and the other boy flinched.

"I would like to be like my father."

"Why?"

"He's an honorable man," Damian recited. That's what they always told him. Not that he had known him for very long. He dismissed the first boy and motioned for the second. This boy glared at Derek who ignored him in favor of Damian.

"I don't see why you're going through the formal process. You are a legacy after all."

"Why not?" Damian asked rhetorically. Unfortunately, Derek believed it to be a legitimate question.

"Because you're a legacy, duh. You already got in."

"Well then, I'm proving my worth with my own merit." Damian began the third boy's tie. He needed deodorant.

"That's stupid," Derek pulled a face.

"Redundant, perhaps but not stupid."

A few of the bolder boys snickered. Derek glared at them. Only Alvin kept his smug grin on his face. Damian finished the fourth boy's tie. The boy mumbled his thanks and returned to the far corner in the room to mumble to himself. The fifth boy held out his tie expectantly.

"Please?"

"Wayne, Damian," the tired woman poked her head through the door, "You're up next."

"One moment," Damian tied the tie and stood up. He was ready.

"Please state your name for us." The man in the center hardly looked up from his papers.

"Damian Wayne."

"And who is your parent or legal guardian?" The man on the left chewed on his pen and had a faraway stare. The woman watched Damian like a hawk.

"My father is Bruce Wayne and my legal guardians are Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth."

"How old are you Damian?"

"Ten and a half. I will turn eleven in January."

"And where did you go to school before you applied for Gotham Academy?"

"I was homeschooled." The man on the left leaned back and snorted. Damian narrowed his eyes. The woman leaned forward and licked her lips. No, not a hawk. Hawks were beautiful things. This woman was a vulture.

"By who?"

"Various tutors that my mother had hired."

"And you took the Entrance Examination today?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent."

"Do you require financial aid?"

"No." He was a Wayne. He did not need aid, especially not financial aid.

"Do you have any documented disabilities that will need to be accommodated?"

"No."

"Okay, we're done here." The center man finally looked up. Damian stiffened. That couldn't be it, could it? "You'll receive word later this week as to whether or not you have been accepted. Good day, young man."

A volunteer hurried him off the stage before he could protest. That was hardly the interview he had practiced with Dick and Alfred. Did he make a mistake? He answered honestly and in accordance with the application form. What was wrong?

"Do you need to call your parents to pick you up?" the volunteer asked.

"No."

"Okay, if you need anything else, there's people in the front office you can ask."

Damian trudged back to room 1203. His phone was in his bag. He would have to call Alfred to pick him up. Then he could go home and properly determine what he did wrong during his interview. He could not fail, and he would not. He was a Wayne and an al Ghul. If he had to force a second interview, then so be it. He would rise to the challenge and exceed all expectations.

He fumed as he walked. His nails dug into his palms. Damian wanted to yell, to fight, to hurt. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. He glared at the ground as though he would suddenly gain heat vision and burn this wretched school to the ground. A yelping noise brought him back to reality. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Look out! It's the Batman!" Derek cackled like a hyena. He was holding a toy over a smaller boy's head. The smaller boy was jumping, trying to take the toy back. Tears leaked out of the smaller boy's eyes while he snarled. This was a territorial battle between boys. That was commonplace at the League. _It was good for development_, Faizan had often said, _Let them fight. The League has no place for the weak._ It only took one patrol for Damian to realize that the same was true in Gotham. Weakness was a flaw, something to be punished.

"What a baby," Derek sneered and held the toy even higher.

"Give it back!"

"Make me, loser!"

The smaller boy positioned his feet. Derek paid no mind. Damian, however, did. He leaned back against the wall. Derek continued his torment.

"You want it, come get it?" Derek wound up as though he were to pitch a fast ball, but, before he could, the smaller boy launched himself at Derek's middle. Both boys fell hard. The smaller boy reacted first. He lunged at Derek's outstretched arm and wrenched the toy away from him. Derek tackled him and began to try and rip the toy out of his arms. The boy managed to kick Derek in the stomach and run off. Damian walked forward.

"Running is a cowardly action."

"He's a freak is what he is." Derek wrinkled his nose as though he smelled something foul. "I was just messing around. He didn't have to freak out."

"What did you take from him?"

"He was playing around with this stupid Batman toy. Y'know, the one that looks like a bat that you throw? Well, the stupid idiot was saying that it was real and it was totally not. My dad got me a bunch of the toy ones when I was in like, the first grade, it's totally for babies, so I was just kidding around with him and he freaked out. I wasn't actually gonna keep it. It's a stupid baby toy."

"It was a toy?"

"Totally, the Batman is just a myth the Justice League helped make popular. That's what my dad says. Every kid on welfare claims to have a real Batman weapon to try and sell but it's just a toy. My dad says so."

"Do you know his name?" Damian would have to further investigate this claim. They didn't always recover every batarang used. A civilian child could cause serious damage if they treated it like a plaything.

"No, he's Narrows trash. Why should I?" Derek sniffed and then perked up. "Hey, want to hang out at my house?"


	3. Chapter 3

**So, there is going to be something that happens in this chapter, and I wrote down why at the bottom. Just power through that one little bit of OOC/disbelief. I want to stay faithful to the comics while still exploring Damian's upbringing.**

Chapter Three

The mailman had arrived shortly after eight. With shaking hands, Damian retrieved the mail soon after and hid it in his room, under the bed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sulked during his breakfast before Pennyworth allowed him to return to his room. He held the white envelope to the light. A blue seal was stamped onto its pale underbelly. It was addressed to him, not Dick, not Alfred, not Bruce. Him. Hopefully, if it bore unpleasant news, he could dispose of the evidence.

The envelope opened easily enough. In large, blue print, the first paper congratulated him for his academic performance but apologized as he did not make the final cut into Gotham Academy's Lower School. The paper crumpled in his hands. His father attended to Gotham Academy's Lower School. His paternal grandfather attended to Gotham Academy's Lower School. Dick Grayson, a no-name son of gypsies, attended to Gotham Academy's Lower School. He had failed.

He failed. He failed, he failed, he failed. The paper floated to the floor. The room was so hot. He clawed as his throat. Damian couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe. He wrestled with the window sash and threw it open. Bile burned his throat and undigested chunks of his breakfast spewed out of his mouth and covered the flower beds below.

He hacked and he spat and he threw up again and again. His legs couldn't hold his weight and he allowed himself to droop to the floor. _Pathetic!_ He could hear Faizan scream. Damian flinched at the phantom sound of a cane cutting through the air pierced the room. The room seemed to spin and he pulled his knees to his chest. He tried to breathe. The putrid stink of vomit made him gag.

"Breathe," he commanded hoarsely, "Breathe."

It seemed to take an eternity for him to regain control of his breathing. He staggered to the bathroom. Cold water pooled into his cupped hands. He gargled and spat. Damian was worthy of his name, he was worthy of it. He scooped a handful of water when three soft knocks on his bathroom door jarred him back to reality. Like a rabbit, he jumped. His shirt was soaked by the water and a warm trickle started down his leg.

"Master Damian, might I inquire as to when you will be performing your daily chores?" Alfred asked. Damian watched in horror as the dark spot on his pants grew and darkened.

"I," he started weakly and couldn't help but stare at the growing stain. Damian cleared his throat and shouted, "I will start soon, Pennyworth."

"Master Damian, are you alright? I thought I heard-"

"I am fine Pennyworth! I'm not an infant in need of constant supervision!" The statement felt like a lie. Urine puddled on the floor. Mindlessly, he dug his nails into his arms and scratched, ignoring the red angry lines that formed. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He stunk; he was soiled; he was a disgrace. A wretched disgrace! That's why they wouldn't let him into the Lower School. They knew it, and then they made it official. Damian might as well have branded the word onto his forehead. They might as well call Vicki Vale and tell her how the failure of an heir failed to carry on the family legacy.

_Think_, he internally screamed, _think_. His nails dug into his neck. He whimpered, and then straightened. The bathtub. He ran the water and peeled off his clothing. Toilet paper mopped up most of the mess and he flushed the evidence away. Damian scrubbed desperately, trying to wash away the memory as shame continued to pick away at him.

He needed out. He needed to get away. He needed to go.

Damian wasn't entirely sure how he left the Manor. One minute, he was pacing his bedroom floor in a towel, and then the next, he was flying down the road on a stolen blue bicycle, dressed in the hand-me-down clothing that he had formerly condemned to the crumpled pile in his closet. The grey skies rumbled. He pedaled on.

Instinct took over. Heavy rain drops began to fall but they could not wash away his shame. He weaved between people and cars, ignoring their indignant shouts. His legs burned but he kept going. Pain was good. Pain drowned misery.

He did not know where he was or where he was going and he did not care. He had failed. He had failed and he did not know what would happen next. The bike picked up speed as it went down the hill. Faster and faster. Everything felt foggy. It reminded him of his first concussion.

_He was almost four years old. They had been hiking up the mountains. Faizan was waiting at the top and was timing them. First to him would win a prize, some sort of sweet. They needed to move quickly. Two boys were fighting. It wasn't their screaming that annoyed him, it was the fact that they were his property as an al Ghul and he did not command this fight. He commanded them to stop. The younger boy begged for mercy. He pointed to the edge of the cliff. Another boy had fallen and was badly injured. The older boy refused to help him in his rescue attempt._

_Damian nodded. He looked over the edge. The boy seemed to be in agony. He demanded that the older boy help the younger boy and him rescue the injured one. The League needed its soldiers, he reasoned. That angered the older boy who then shoved Damian off the edge of the cliff. Damian broke his wrist, dislocated his arm, and gotten a concussion. _

_Faizan pulled him from the gully once the exercise had ended. He was furious and screamed at Damian for failing him. Damian could not remember what he had said. He was thinking of the injured boy's eyes. The injured boy had dark eyes and was only a little bigger than him. He begged for mercy, medicine, and even death. Damian recited Nafisa's stories to him, even after the light left his eyes despite the blazing afternoon sun. For his failures, Faizan announced his disgracefulness to the others, caned him in front of them, had Damian kill the two boys who had caused this mess, and then locked him in a closet for three days with only a cup of water to last him. He was a disgrace to the League, and especially to the name al Ghul. He would learn ruthlessness whether he wanted to or not._

_So, imagine Damian's confusion when he woke up and found that someone had stolen pieces of honey slathered bread from Samira's kitchen and shoved them through the crack in the door._

"Son of a-" the car horn drowned out the rest of Damian's exclamation. Damian swerved out of the car's way and raised his middle finger, just like half the hooligans did whenever they saw him as Robin.

"Tt." His lip curled into a half-snarl. Water kicked up from the bike tires and splashed his legs; not like he wasn't soaked already. He squinted but he couldn't make out the street signs. Gotham looked different on the street than it did on its roofs.

He wanted to hit himself. He had a horrible morning; he didn't feel good; and now he was lost and had no location in mind. _Colin's_. His sneer turned into something resembling a smirk. Colin lived in a suburb that was a twenty minute car ride from Gotham City and Damian knew his address. He could make it, if he knew where he was.

He saw the familiar outline of a subway entrance and pedaled harder. Wonderful. There was bound to be a map. He could figure out where he was and then start his ride there. Damian leaned the bike against the railing and hurried down the steps.

Gotham's underbelly smelled like old piss and dead rats. And its map was heavily graffitied. _Thank you, J-Dawg, I am so glad to know you visited this fine location_, Damian rolled his eyes but found out where he was. He was near Copper and Morrisey which was near the docks where he first met Colin. He was in downtown. He closed his eyes and thought. He would have to ride back towards the Manor to get to the streets that would lead him to Colin's foster family's suburb. It shouldn't take more than an hour and a half. Maybe even sooner now that the rain had let up.

Or maybe longer, considering the bike still wasn't leaning against the rail where he left it. Damian snarled and kicked the railing. Then he hopped and cursed in Arabic. His sneakers offered his toes no protection from the metal bars. People walked by without comment. But, someone made the mistake of chuckling. Damian whipped his head towards the sound and stormed up to the older man smoking a cigarette.

"Did you see who stole the bike?"

"I did." The man took another dragged and dropped the cigarette. He smushed it with his worn out boot. His arms were crossed and his posture confident.

"And you didn't stop them?" Damian roared. The man held up his hand and hacked out a lung. He didn't even cover his mouth. Damian's skin crawled. _Disgusting_.

"I ain't getting shot over some dumb kid's mistake." The old man snorted. "Get your old man to buy you a new one. _He_ could probably afford having a stupid kid." The old man entered the worker's entrance to a building and all but slammed the metal door in Damian's face while Damian sputtered indignantly. His face and eyes burned. Someone stole _his_ property and the old bastard just added insult to injury. He knew he was more educated at age five than that man had ever been in his entire life! Damian hit and kicked the door. Someone opened a window.

"Knock that shit off or I'm calling the cops!" a different man yelled.

"Good!" Damian screamed back and gave the door one final kick. He walked down the street, fuming. Didn't he know who he was? He was a Wayne! Waynes had wealth, influence, power. That meant something, didn't it? Damian told himself that he would buy the business and fire the man who insulted him and then the man who swore at him. Then, he'd find out who stole the bike and knock their front teeth down their throat. Yeah. That's what he'd do.

His shoes were full of water and his socks squeezed out and then reabsorbed rainwater with every step. It felt absolutely disgusting. He'd rather dumpster dive for evidence than deal with this. His shirt and shorts felt like a second skin at this point. Perhaps he should jump in one of Gotham's rivers and see if he'd turn into a selkie at this point.

He looked up at the street sign. Park and Fifth. There was a convenience store nearby that had a sympathetic owner. Maybe he would allow Damian to call Alfred to come pick him up and bring him dry-no, no, no, he couldn't do that because then he would have to admit why he left the Manor and why he was wearing different clothes than the ones he wore at breakfast and Alfred probably had already discovered the letter and his soiled clothing by now and the shame was too much to bear. Damian didn't know what he was more ashamed of: failing to be accepted to Gotham Academy or soiling himself due to irrational fear. And Alfred would tell Dick, and who would bring a pants soiling baby along to fight criminals?

Damian stiffened his resolve. He could not simply call Alfred and expect everything to be forgotten. Everyone remembers mistakes, especially his. He cut through an alley. Dick had emergency supplies stashed along one of these buildings. If one just had a poncho, then he would feel slightly better. Pretend he had some form of dignity left.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" an older boy crooned as Damian walked down the block. Damian ignored him and passed the apartment building. He heard the distinct thud of sneakers on concrete and he turned around.

"What?" He had no time to play games. He needed to get to Colin's and fast. A cigarette drooped from the older boy's lips as he swaggered towards him.

"New kid's got a little attitude." The older boy took a long drag and leaned forward. Damian kept his back straight and forced his eyes to remain open as the boy blew smoke into his face. He glared at the older boy. "Or maybe you're just slumming it? Is that it?"

"I do not know what you are referring to. I must go so unless you need something-" Damian glared as the older boy chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"You have to pay the visitor's tax. Twenty bucks."

"There is no such thing as a visitor's tax."

"Yes, there is. And you got to pay it."

"Says who?" Damian demanded.

"The law." Now he knew the boy was lying.

"There is no such law in Gotham City."

"No, maybe not in the whole city," the boy jabbed one of his yellowing fingers into Damian's chest but kept his smile, "But in this neighborhood, you gotta pay the visitor's tax. It's how we keep out the riffraff and build up this wonderful place."

"The only riffraff I see are you and your companions," Damian sneered at the boys inching forward. Damian looked around. Graffiti, broken glass, probably a used condom in the gutter ten paces down the road, "And it would take more than gentrification to fix this dump."

The boy's smile turned into a scowl. He stubbed his cigarette out on the brick wall and tucked it behind his ear. He gestured to his friends.

"Wise guy here thinks he's too good to pay the tax. Why don't we show him what we do to preppy snobs who like to slum who refuse our graciousness?"

This older boy had an eloquent manner of speech, considering his class and position in society. He reminded Damian of a Hollywood styled Prohibition Era gangster or even a influential demagogue. It almost saddened Damian to break the boy's hand and nose. Almost.

"Would anyone else like to play tax collector today?" he asked loudly. The boy's friends just stared at him and their fallen leader, who was clutching his hand and face while trying to hold back tears. Damian plucked the stubbed out cigarette from the boy's ear. A trophy. A disgusting one but it meant something. Damian strutted away.

As soon as he turned the corner, he tossed the pathetic, little thing away. Smoking was a poor man's habit and unbecoming of his upbringing. Even if it wasn't, the effects of smoking would destroy his body, and the heir to the Batman mantle could not have a damaged body. He was a weapon of war and he would be an impressive one at that.

He had walked a quarter of a mile without interruption. His back was straight and his head up. People hurried by as the storm became even worse. They hunched over and sprinted, as though a single rain drop would end them. Damian would have laughed if their behavior wasn't so undignified.

"Hey kid! You wanna get out of the rain?"

A man in green stood underneath a building's awning. Damian scowled. They were the only two people on the street. The building looked dingy and old. But the storm was intensifying and another do-gooder would probably be more forceful.

He crossed the road.

Somehow, the building seemed even more pathetic on the inside. Worn, blue carpeting, torn, green, foam seats, and even a sad, pink poster of a cat telling him to _Hang in There!_ He rolled his eyes. Perhaps he should take his chances with the storm. The man took him to a desk near the waiting area. A baby cried for milk.

"So, what's your name, buddy?" The man sat at his desk and gestured for Damian to take a seat. Damian squinted. The man's plastic name badge said Josh. The man noticed and stuck out his hand.

"Sorry bud, I'm Josh."

"Wayne, Damian Wayne." Damian refused to shake his hand. This man was beneath him. The man smiled back.

"Everett, Josh Everett. So, how come you were out in the storm all by your lonesome."

Damian stayed silent but the man was an even bigger fool than Dick. He just smiled and leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world.

"If you must know, I was walking to my colleague's house." Damian looked back. The young mother was cooing and trying to feed the baby. An elderly couple held the hands of a teenage boy who seemed off to Damian. He couldn't place why.

"How come your guardian didn't drop you off? Or your friend's guardian?"

"Why do you need to know, _Everett_?"

"Well," the man said slowly, as though Damian was too dense to understand, "That's a pretty bad storm you were walking in and you looked pretty out of place all by yourself."

Damian refused to answer and looked back. The baby had stopped crying and a nurse in purple scrubs led the teenager out of the waiting room. The old woman looked like she was trying not to cry. Her husband had his arm wrapped around her shoulders and murmured something into her ear.

"Have you eaten breakfast today?"

"Excuse me?" Damian blinked and turned back. "Yes, yes I have eaten breakfast."

"And what did you have for breakfast?"

"Oatmeal with strawberries and bananas and a glass of whole milk." Alfred always made it too runny for his liking but at least he had stopped adding any brown sugar in it like he did with Dick's.

"I bet that was pretty tasty," Josh nodded. Damian shrugged. He had hardly tasted his breakfast. In fact, he tasted more of it when it came back up than he did forcing it down.

"You know Damian, we can get you a change of clothes if you'd like. I don't know about you but I'm not a big fan of sitting around in wet clothes."

"Fine."

"Alrighty, why don't you come with me?"

Josh had an annoying habit of clicking his tongue while he looked for things. Damian leaned against the doorframe and watched. He could hear people; he just couldn't see any. Finally, Josh made a delighted noise and produced a drawstring bag.

"Ta da!" Damian reluctantly accepted the obnoxiously yellow bag. "The boys' washroom is this way."

Josh babbled about the Enrichment Center as he led Damian to the back of the building. He wrapped a yellow bracelet around Damian's wrist.

"This band will let us know you're a guest here," Josh said, "And it will get you a bite to eat too." He pushed the locker room door open. It was loud and smelled like unwashed bodies and cheap cologne.

"You have a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some other toiletries if you want to clean up. You have about ten minutes until the counselors have everyone go back to the activity rooms." Josh looked at his watch and gave Damian a little shove forward. "Everything will be okay."

**So, Damian might seem a little out of character for the peeing his pants but he is a kid who has faced a lot of awful things and needed to be perfect **_**or else**_**. I just wanted to show how deeply his upbringing has affected him, especially when Damian believes that he has failed, and I thought it would be a good way to do it.**


End file.
